A smile infused his face as he considered the subtle irony of the painting he had just hung overtop of the sofa.
It was subtle. So subtle most people wouldn’t get it, he suspected. That made the smile broader. Let them not get it. It’d be his own inside joke.
The painting was a wide canvas, painted brown. The artist had incorporated some interesting (and yes, subtle) textures into the canvas, there were matted out circles where the surface changed from the tactility of leather to that of suede. And it was predominantly brown. And red.
He’d likely never have considered purchasing a brown and red painting before he had seen this one. Well, that might be a lie. He’d consider anything, but the colors certainly asserted themselves on the rest of the neutrals in the room, warming the space and giving a visual break from the monotony of greys and earthtones that were his norm.
An abstract red sofa on a brown background. The paining was almost ridiculously simplistic. But that was part of its appeal. An organic, alive feeling pervaded it. But that alone wasn’t responsible for his smile. In fact, the painting by itself couldn’t be responsible for the delicious irony that appealed to him so much. Even the single nine letter word pressed into the canvas wasn’t responsible, though it was the catalyst.
It was dependent on where it was hung. And he had hung it where it belonged. He nodded and read the word to himself one last time before turning and leaving the room.